


love is a ruthless game (unless you play it good and right)

by sachantquiladesailes_98



Category: Life with Derek
Genre: Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, Fluffy Ending, I Don't Even Know, It's 2008 again, Quarantine is making me regress guys, Super unnecessarily angsty, This is where the muse is apparently taking me, and I can't decide between this Disney show and T Swift
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24433636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachantquiladesailes_98/pseuds/sachantquiladesailes_98
Summary: Legit just 10 chapters of the usual unnecessarily angsty Dasey nonsense that I continue to love. Each one is based on a Taylor Swift song. Because quarantine is having a weird effect on me.
Relationships: Casey McDonald/Derek Venturi
Comments: 67
Kudos: 69





	1. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between binging this show in 2 days all over again and listening to my T Swift playlist on repeat, it genuinely feels like 2008 again. So yeah... I have no explanation for the sudden bout of inspiration, but I have learned to not question the muse. Let me know what you think- that is, if anybody else is out there and also still not over this show and these two crazy kids. Also, I did binge it, so some things might not be entirely accurate. Feel free to let me know if this is the case.

The thing most people didn’t realize about Derek was the amount of self control he had. People assumed he had no restraint, that his seeming inability to just let things go and leave certain unnamed individuals alone was proof that he didn’t have the so-called self discipline of said individuals. Nora had actually said as much to him shortly after she had tipped his life on its head and altered it permanently enough that Derek honestly didn’t think it had ever straightened itself back out.

It was one of those dumb afternoons when he had come home from hockey practice sweaty and starving and had been minding his own business guzzling down half of the milk carton and the cookies Casey had made for no discernible reason. Those were the really stupid times. If she had made cookies for a reason or had a particular need for the milk, then MAYBE she MIGHT have had a reason to be all up in his face, blathering on about decency and respect and civility. But she didn’t even need the cookies or the milk, nor did she buy the groceries! So why did she give a shit? Why was she so incensed by something that had nothing to do with her?

ANYWAYS, he’d said something brilliant and hilarious and shoved past her, smirking at her gasp of outrage and the way she’d stormed past him. Which was when Nora- who was apparently just lurking behind him- said mildly, “Believe it or not, I used to be a lot like you. I just couldn’t help myself from egging on my sister. I couldn’t see past the instant gratification of her response. It took me a while to develop the discipline to cultivate a meaningful relationship with her, and I still struggle with it sometimes too. There’s just something about sisters.”

He’d stared at her blankly, in the rare position of being unable to think of a single response. She’d chuckled at the sight of his stunned face and held up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying that maybe it would be better to give her a chance sooner rather than later. A sister fills a unique and special role in life-” He’d had the impression that she wanted to say more, but a sudden thud could be heard from upstairs followed by Edwin’s embarrassingly suspicious “Nothing!” and she'd sighed and left to check on that.

The relief he’d felt had been tangible, almost as intense as the punch to the gut he’d gotten in his last game. He likes Nora, he really does. (It might be easier if he didn’t.) She is good for his dad and she is good for Marti and Edwin and he’s objective enough to admit that she is a much better mom than his own will ever be. Which is why it would have been awkward to laugh in her face. _He_ has no self control? _Casey_ is the one who can’t go five minutes without checking in on him and criticizing his every movement. Maybe if she would leave him alone for more than the time it took to gossip with Emily and make out with whatever new shitty moron she was dating, he wouldn’t _have_ to exercise so much damn self control and the accusation of a lack of it might be valid.

So the relief had nearly knocked him down in its intensity. Because how on earth could he have explained to Nora the depths of self control he had to constantly use around Casey- his “sister”? How could he have explained how carefully he calculated each insult- because he craved her fury, her flushed cheeks and heaving chest and the spark in her eyes, but sometimes the insult needed to send her out of the room, because if she didn’t go… if he didn’t get away from her… then Nora would certainly have a hell of a lot more to say about the unique and special role he wanted Casey to fill in his life.

He thinks that’s the problem: how carefully and how long he has had to measure his responses, and temper his actions, and discipline his body. He thinks that if it wasn’t for all those years, he could handle it now. But the fact of the matter is, he can’t. He’s losing his mind. He’s been losing it since the second _she_ had thrown herself against _him_ , _she_ had drug _him_ into the back seat of the Prince, _she_ had settled on top of _him_ and initiated the sloppiest, least coordinated, least comfortable, most wonderful sex he’d ever had in his life.

It had been so sudden and so ridiculously fast that it’s over before he has even really realized that it’s happening. He blames that on the years of rigid self control too. He’s spent so long strictly forbidding himself from even imagining anything to do with Casey that he has no frame of reference for what to do with her when he suddenly and inexplicably has her.

Afterwards, when she was awkwardly clambering off him and fixing her dress and he was just lying there, scared that if he even breathed too loudly, he would realize it was all a messy and disturbing dream, it occured to him that some context might help. So, summoning every bit of the careful persona of Derek Venturi that he has painstakingly cultivated, he shifted to lounge against the seat and drawled lazily, “Not that I’m complaining, but is there any particular reason you assaulted me?”

She'd blushed a deep red, noticeable even in the dimness of the early summer evening, and stammered, “I, I… I just… I don’t know… I was just, I mean, weren’t _you,_ or I mean, I guess I just thought that… I was curious… you know? I’ve been wondering about it for a long time and I don’t know… I just wanted to know.”

He'd quirked an eyebrow at her and stretched languidly. “And? What did you find out?”

She'd blushed again, but there was not a hint of hesitation in her voice when she said, “I won’t be locking my door this summer.” 

George and Nora had rented a family cabin for the summer, and by what he was now suspecting might have been deliberate maneuvering, Casey had secured the basement for him and her. Everyone else was sleeping an entire floor away from them, and the shy but sure invitation coupled with the reality of how possible this all suddenly is had him a bit breathless for a second. He'd glanced away from her to stop himself from saying something very stupid and his eye had landed on the worn copy of Alice in Wonderland that Marti had apparently left tucked behind the driver’s seat of the Prince. 

Marti had spent half the ride home from school lecturing him about how it was more than just a drug trip of a story (his words) the last time he had picked her up. She loves the book, because of course she does. He’d made the comment about how it was a drug trip of a book and she had launched into a recitation of all its qualities and how it made one think even as an adult. She’d opened it and read some quote to him, something about how it takes all the running one can do to remain in the same place. It had been an admittedly poetic and relatable picture and he’d been struck by a possible movie idea, and she’d shoved it into the pocket on the back of his seat with a smug smile and asked if they could get ice cream.

The thought had come into his mind then about curiosity killing the cat- wasn’t that from that book? The cat with the creepy smile and the weird riddles? Maybe not. Anyway, what did it matter when Casey was standing in the early evening light and inviting him to her room?

He thinks now that it was a warning, though. That his subconscious had known the craziness in store, had seen the mental whiplash of tender whispers in the dead of night to strained talking when the sun rose to the angry fights that must be maintained for the sake of pretense. Was it the pretense that was driving him crazy? Was it that none of it was real? Or was it that it was so fucking hard to distinguish what was from what wasn’t? 

Because he’s crazy. That’s the only explanation. His life had never been better than it was that summer: sneaking in and out with Casey, lazily making out anywhere and everywhere because nobody knew them in this tiny town by the lake, and cataloguing each and every glorious noise that he could coax from her, and yet it had also never been worse. He was always tired and on edge and just waiting for the end- because the end was coming. Life would return to normal and Casey’s curiosity would be sated and he would be expected to act as if nothing had happened. She would expect him to compartmentalize as successfully as she can, to meet each new shitty boyfriend, to hold her hand through every shitty breakup, to coax her back out to meet some new shitty guy, and eventually give her his blessing to marry likely the shittiest one of them all. This is how she is and this is how it will be and he _knows_ it and he should get out now, he should make even the barest effort to prepare, but he doesn’t.

Because his life had never been better. Because he’s crazy. Because it takes all the running he can do to keep in the same place. Because he can’t think straight when it comes to her. Because she’d somehow managed to drag him into her own personal Wonderland and he’d known as surely as he’d ever known anything that no matter how it played out, no matter how this ended- because it would end- he would never leave it. He’d just be here running, running as fast as he was able to, and stuck in the same fucking place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me that I should clarify that this one is based on Taylor Swift's "Wonderland". Which is the song that got me back into Taylor Swift. I love songs that are based on stories. And the comparison between love and Wonderland is honestly inspired, and this song is SO underrated. The full quote from Alice in Wonderland is: "Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. It's a wonderful quote and the poetic possibilities of it also suggest themselves to my mind. Having said that, the book really is like a drug trip and genuinely reminds me of the tripping scene from 22 Jump Street.


	2. Killing Me Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I love these poor dummies. Let me know what you think!

It was Derek’s fault. I mean, she shouldn’t even need to clarify that. It was always Derek’s fault. On the face of it, it sort of seems like her fault, but that’s because he’s sneaky like that! He’s always being all devious and confusing in the background, but nobody ever sees that. They just see her being an idiot.

Like okay, yes, maybe she wanted to see if he would make a move if they were both in the basement, but that was his fault! She had been perfectly fine, before he’d decided to go to the same university as her, before he’d looked at her all confusing and soft and sincere in the kitchen ( _ “Same difference.” “Yeah.”),  _ before he’d weaselled his way into her consciousness and just refused. to. leave. Because of course Derek was just as stubborn and difficult and frustrating in her head as he was everywhere else.

And okay, yes, maybe it was her idea to sneak out of the house the first night and see what sort of nightlife this tiny town had to offer, but that was also his fault! She was just gonna go to bed and determinedly  _ not  _ think of anyone, but he had to come over and flop down on her bed, whining about how there was nothing to do and he missed being with cool people and how he was cursed with a family that all went to bed before the sun went down. He was just so close to her- ON A BED- and he smelled all clean and boyish and he kept poking her, and she was poking him back and suggesting they sneak out before she had even thought the suggestion through. This is what he did. This is what he did to her. (Which is really only more evidence for why it was  _ such  _ a bad idea, but again, it’s not her fault!)

And OKAY, YES, maybe technically she’s the one that made the move, but that was still his fault! How dare he? Sitting there, laughing infuriatingly and infuriatingly handsome, with his hands locked behind his head as he leaned against the seat, flexing his stupid muscles and flaunting that stupid line of skin between his shirt and jeans. She was gonna just go into the house and scream into her pillow until she suffocated, but he’d had to give her that smirk. That challenging smirk that never failed to elicit action from her. As if he knew what she was thinking, as if he knew she was scared, as if he knew her. He didn’t know her. She’d kissed him to prove that to herself as much as to anyone else

AND OKAY, FINE, YES, it was SORT OF her fault that they’d fucked in the back of their shared car (good God) like every cliche teenage couple ever (not that they  _ were  _ a teenage couple), but that was STILL his fault! She didn’t know what she thought was gonna happen when she kissed Derek, but she definitely didn’t think he would respond immediately, that he would tug her into him and slip his tongue into her mouth and every inch of her would spark and it would be so  _ so  _ good and… well, anyways, she can’t help but think that that’s also Derek’s fault.

And the whole confusing, complicated, painful mess that is whatever they are is definitely Derek’s fault. Derek with his barely winded voice, and undiminished smirk, and lazy confidence. Derek with his “Not that I’m complaining, but is there any particular reason you assaulted me?” Derek, who isn’t even slightly rattled or affected by any of this. Derek, who, depending on the day, would either laugh uproariously if she told him all the confusing, complicated, painful feelings swirling inside her, or awkwardly pity her. (And she honestly doesn’t know which one would be worse.) Derek, who’s perfected the art of driving her crazy, so that even when they’re “getting along” (or whatever she should call it), she’s losing her mind. Derek, whose very existence ensures that she can never  _ never  _ say any of this out loud. Derek, who is undoubtedly gonna break her heart by the end of this summer. Derek, who already has.

_It’s always Derek’s fault_ , she thinks as she squeezes out of the basement window for the thousandth time since they started whatever this is. _Always_ , she thinks as he opens the passenger side door for her and she studiously ignores the flutter in her heart. _If anything, I'm the victim here,_ she thinks as he tugs her against him while she gets out of the car. _What else could I possibly do?_ , she thinks as she maps out every inch of his chest while they lazily make out against the side of the car, simultaneously learning his body and ignoring the pang in her heart. _Fuck him_ , she thinks (her worsening language is also his fault) when he flashes a grin at her, holding up the five dollar bill that he’s managed to wrangle out of her back pocket and sauntering off to the vending machine in front of the closed grocery store to buy the Coke she’d just told him he can't have. _FUCK him_ , she thinks as she laughs aloud and follows him over to snatch the first sip from the unopened bottle. _FUCK HIM_ , she thinks as he lets her.

He leans against the machine and studies her as she drinks. “I’m actually really impressed that you haven’t made a million different rules for this yet,” he ventures, watching her reaction carefully.

She shrugs calculatedly, “Would you follow any rules I made?”

He doesn’t answer her, just grabs the Coke and chugs half the bottle back. When he stops, he cocks his head at her and says, “You don’t even want a label for it?”

Casey sighs, biting back the obvious response, which is that it is his job to establish labels. This isn’t like that anyways. It’s not as if he’d asked her out or even done much more to indicate interest than accepting her invitation to make himself at home in her room and bed. And of course he had: he was a horny, 18 year old. And more importantly, he was Derek. She could be his legal sister, and he’d probably still have taken her up on it. He had no self control- especially when it came to girls. 

Instead of saying any of this, she rolls her eyes at him. “Ummm fine. I guess we’re two people who are attracted to one another physically, and are taking advantage of this summer to explore that before the reality of our incompatibility sinks in?” She’d started the statement sarcastically, but by the end, there’s a distinct question in her voice and for just an instant, she imagines that he wants more from her. 

But he just rolls his eyes back at her. “Sounds about right. Without a guarantee of success, the Keener won’t even try. Now come on, you said you’d let me shoot some shots of you in the moonlight.”

He laces his hand with hers and tugs her off, and she sternly forbids the skip of her heart. _He doesn’t even want to try_ , she reminds herself. He styles her in all sorts of poses and laughs at her attempts to be alluring, and she helplessly asks her heart to not get invested. _He doesn’t even want to try_ , she reminds herself. He calls her his muse and changes his computer background to the one of her in the middle of snapping “Der-EK” at him, and she resigns herself to the increasingly painful leap in her chest. _He doesn’t even want to try_ , she reminds herself. He holds her like she’s precious and whispers the sweetest things in her ear when it’s late at night and he’s slightly tipsy, and she lets her heart break a bit more every time he dozes off beside her. _He doesn’t even want to try._

She tells Emily about her mysterious summer fling and how exciting and sexy and wonderful the whole thing is. There are no rules and no clearly defined parameters, and she feels like a modern, sophisticated woman. When Emily points out how dangerous that could be, and how Casey isn’t really the sort of person that functions well with no rules, Casey hangs up the phone and doesn’t text her back for days. They stop talking about it, and Casey loses the one outlet she had for all of this.

She gets drunk the night she realizes that it’s too late for her heart. So drunk that she can’t get into the car by herself, and Derek has to help prop her up in the back seat. He's livid because he’s gonna have to make up excuses for why she’ll be so hungover the next day. She starts sobbing suddenly- choking, snot-filled, hysterical bawling that has Derek flinging himself out of the car like she’s contagious. It’s funny after the fact: how scared he is of her sudden outpouring of emotion. It’s also yet another painful memory. Because he  _ is  _ scared, but he still carefully climbs back into the car and pats her gently on the shoulder, hesitantly asking if she's okay. 

She starts laughing even more hysterically at that. What on earth does she say? Because of course she’s not okay. Her choice is between sanity and happiness and honesty... and him. Even worse than that, she is consciously and consistently choosing him! 

She stops laughing rather abruptly and says, “I’m fine. Let’s go home.”

He looks at her like she’s crazy, but drives back to the cabin without another word. She’s still insanely drunk and he has to help her out of the car and through the gate, and then ease her carefully back through the window. It’s when he’s in the bathroom that she realizes she’s bleeding on her left arm. She must have cut it on the gate or the window when he was bringing her in. She contemplates calling out and asking him for a band aid, but decides against it. After all, what’s another wound from whatever they were doing? She’s gotten good at hiding the blood from him.

He comes back in with some Tylenol and a bucket. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He asks, as he unlaces her shoes.

“I’m fine,” she responds mechanically. She’s drunk though and making poor life decisions, so she immediately follows it up by blurting out: “I love you.”

He looks up, grinning. “I’m sure you do. You’ll love me even more when I spend all day tomorrow covering for your ass. And _you_ can spend the day thinking nice and hard about how you’ll make it up to me.”

He asks her if she’s okay many times that summer. But none are quite so bad as that first night. Because of course she’s not okay. She loves him. She loves him and she had finally found the courage to say it out loud that night and she’d never heard anything so awful in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Taylor Swift's "Cruel Summer" which is like one of the only angsty ones on the new album, but also like a HUGE bop. I picked it kind of tentatively for this chapter of Casey's perspective on that summer, and then it practically just wrote itself. ALSO, I've never actually seen the summer movie so as far as this story is concerned it didn't happen, and they spent the summer before Queen's at this fictional family cabin.


	3. How It Works

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwuahahahaha!! Have this heaping platter of angst from me. This one is like double the length of the first two, mostly because it was being such a brat when I was trying to write it. It's also a bit confusing timewise/ realitywise, so bear with me here. The idea of a family group chat wherein Marti just sends instigating gifs is borrowed/ stolen from RollyPratt's and UntoldGalaxies' third chapter of One Step at a Time. (Read it. Read all the chapters. Read all the Dasey fic by these authors! It's all fantastic.) It is also borrowed/ stolen from legit interactions in my own family group chat (I am the Marti; it is unappreciated.) I have been informed that the majority of the credit for Marti as the gif-sender belongs to UntoldGalaxies, so at least SOME people can appreciate my art. 😂 Thank you all for your patience and enjoy the new chapter!!

It’s raining the night he tells her. (Yeah, that’s good- she loves that shit.) It’s raining and he forgot to bring an umbrella, so when she opens the door, he’s soaked and shivering just a bit. 

She’d be pissed at first. She’d gape at him for a second, and then yank him through the door. She wouldn’t let him say a word for the first couple minutes, too busy aggressively drying him off with any towels she can find and droning on about irresponsibility and hypothermia and how he should have consulted the weather and it never hurts to be prepared for all situations etc. etc.

He’d let her talk- she’s allowed to be pissed and he doesn’t want to start this off on the wrong foot. Eventually she’d notice his silence though, and stop with the drying, put her hands on her hips, and give him her trademark Casey glare. “Der-EK! Are you listening to me? Have you gone crazy?”

He’d grin at that- he wouldn’t be able not to. (He thinks he might miss the way she says his name the most.) He’d reach out and take her hands in his. She’d be hesitant but she’s also a romantic at heart, so she would let him. 

“I’ve missed you, Case,” he would say. “I was scared,” he would say. “I didn’t know how to say what I wanted from you, because then it would be real,” he would say. “It’s been such a long-” (he swivels around to look at the calendar- when the fuck did it become June?) “-six months without you,” he would say. “I want you- all of you, every neurotic and wonderful piece,” he would say. “I’m willing to do what it takes to make this work,” he would say. “I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he would say. “I know I screwed up, but let me fix it,” he would say.

Or something shitty and cliche and lame like that. She likes shitty and cliche and lame. It wouldn’t have killed him to have made more of an effort at shitty and cliche and lame. 

He takes another swig of whatever cheap swill he’d dug from the back of the fridge and sighs. How was it already June? How had it already been six months of radio silence from her, of an empty house fucking haunted by memories of her, of awful family group chats and stilted holiday meals where she’s right there, but not really, not for him? How had he managed to get through half a fucking year without her?

He picks up his phone and groans aloud at the stupid Facebook memory still glowing on it. It wasn’t even his photo. In fact, he looked rather awful in the picture- that’s why she’d tagged him in it. He’d ridden that stupid mechanical bull, because she’d seemed kind of out of it and he’d thought it would make her laugh. (God, he had been SUCH a sap.) It _had_ made her laugh… but it had also made him nauseous and _completely_ ruined his carefully constructed hair. She’d insisted on taking a photo to commemorate the occasion- just for the memories….

Then she’d gotten wasted out of her mind and posted it on her feed sometime between the time he went to get her coat and the time he took her out to the car. 

They’d gotten in trouble for that when Nora had seen the photo and its time stamp. It wasn’t actually a lot of trouble, since they were almost fully fledged adults and his dad and Nora were so stoked that they had been getting along so well (ha!), but it still sucked, cause they let Derek spend the whole day making excuses for Casey’s non appearance and telling increasingly less believable lies about their fictional board game night, before they finally told him they knew- Nora had seen the photo before Derek had even woken up. 

Ed had laughed unnecessarily loudly at that reveal, and Marti had teased about how “Smerek was losing his touch” and even Liz had cracked a smile. Casey had enjoyed the story so much that she decided she was never going to take the photo down, and she would tag him in it, so that he would be reminded of it every year.

She had been too drunk to remember the night before, and what else that photo would always remind him of. “I love you.” She’d blurted it out like she meant it, she’d blurted it out like it was real, and for just the barest millisecond, it had _felt_ real to Derek. But then he remembered who he was talking to (Casey threw affection around like confetti) and what their situation was (“before the reality of our incompatibility sinks in”) and he’d summoned an appropriate response just in time. 

And now here it was- his yearly reminder that he was a fucking idiot and that he was probably gonna die alone ‘cause he didn’t think that he could ever love someone the way he’d come to love her, and that he wasn’t drunk enough to handle any of this.

He groans aloud and makes his way toward the kitchen in search of something a bit stronger- but not before he throws his phone underneath the couch. He’ll find it in the morning. I mean, it will suck because he’ll be hungover and pissy, but better that than drunk Derek doing something stupid like sharing the memory and asking her if she misses those days as much as he does.

It’s snowing the night it all nearly ends. (He’s drunk enough that he’s rewriting history.) He’s not even sure what they’re fighting about anymore. It had started because he had wanted to go see the screening of his short film with her. He wasn’t trying to start a fight, he just wanted her there with him- so sue him. She had freaked out. She always did that: turned little issues into big ones by bringing in all sorts of irrelevant facts and old arguments .

She accused him of sending mixed messages, of confusing her. That if what they were wasn’t serious enough that he couldn’t flirt with random girls at the freshman mixer (that was literally months ago, and he had apologized- why the fuck did she always have to throw it in his face?), then it wasn’t serious enough to go out on a public outing together.

That pissed him off. It was her that had laid down the rules that they couldn’t seem to be anything other than friends in public- what if someone saw them? (What _if_ someone saw them? What then, Case? What exactly is it that you’re so afraid of?)

In fact, she had controlled every step of this relationship from the very beginning. Need he remind her that _she_ jumped _him,_ that it was her who kept _this_ (always with some sort of vague gesture between the two of them, since there was no fucking label for whatever they were- like she wanted!) going all summer, that she had suggested living together to “cut costs” when they went to Queens, that _she_ came to _him_ that first night and every night after, that she treated him like her boyfriend, brother, best friend, and fuck buddy all in one and he just went along with it. He was losing his mind, but he just went along with it and all he wanted was to go and see one single fucking movie with her!

That set her off in a way he hadn’t seen since she first moved in to his house, squared up to him, and refused to fucking back down. (And why couldn’t she see that this was all her fault anyways?) She told him to watch his language, he _knows_ she doesn’t like it when he swears and he keeps doing it anyways. And how dare he throw all this in her face and refuse to take responsibility for anything. Not that she’s surprised since that’s his M.O. for everything. How like him to just blame everything on her, and act like he was the only one losing his mind- as if he was the only one that had feelings and wanted things to be clearer. And it wouldn’t just be one single fucking movie, would it? It would be more, but he can never admit that. He can never admit anything, because he has to be cool Derek who doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything and cannot think for one instant about anything that someone else might want.

“Well, what _do_ you want, Case? Do you even know?” He grabbed her shoulders, so desperate and angry and so, so scared. If she just gives him anything- anything at all- he’ll do this. He’ll do it for real. For the first time in his life, he’s willing to take that risk, to gamble it all away. He’s all in- he’s been all in since day one. He just needs the barest hint that she wants that too.

“What do _you_ want?!” Casey is many, many things… but a gambler is not one of them. She will never risk it all- not for him, not for anyone. 

There is a universe where he lets go of his desperate grip on her, where he picks up his jacket and walks slowly and calmly to the Prince, where he drives and drives and drives until he can’t see through the tears, and he pulls over and screams and cries and beats the shit out his steering wheel. He goes back the next day when she’s in class and packs up all his shit and leaves before she gets back, because if he sees her, he’ll change his mind and he can’t afford to do that. He moves in with some guys from his team and he ignores every call from her until she just stops asking. He lets eight months go by until it’s her birthday and he can’t stop being a dick in the restaurant as hard as he tries, because she’s brought some guy with her. Some rich, attractive, charming guy who compliments Nora, and playfully debates boring shit with his father, and relates better to Edwin, and encourages Lizzie’s passions, and lets Marti hide her vegetables on his plate when their parents aren’t looking, and will still never _never_ be good enough for Casey. He can’t stop being a dick and he makes her cry and she doesn’t even yell at him- she just quietly asks him to leave. There is a universe where he’s at home alone, drinking his roommate’s whiskey and rewriting painful histories in his head.

Not this one, though. In this dream universe, Derek takes her hand and leads her to his room. He tells her fondly that she’s the stupidest person he knows, and impressively bad at seeing what’s right in front of her. He opens up his computer and watches her blush and gasp at the picture he’d told her he deleted- a stupid selfie they had taken to send George and Nora the first night they moved in, where he’d turned at the last second and pressed his lips to her cheek. He watches the same blush spread across her face as he starts the short film he’s made for the festival- his love letter to her, in the only way he could think to say it. He reminds her of every moment of their relationship- the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful- and tells her that he wants more of it, that he’s fairly certain already that it’s all he’ll ever want.

He’s startled out of this dream universe by the vibration of his phone. It’s her. Of course it’s her. He takes a moment to pretend he won’t answer, and it is in that moment that she clearly thinks better of it and ends the call. She’s always been smarter than him. 

He wonders if she has a hidden file on her computer full of love letters to him. He doesn’t know if it would make it better or worse if she did.

It’s stupidly hot when she shows up at his door, as hot as the day they started all of this. (This is the one fantasy he promised himself he wouldn’t indulge, but he’s always been best at lying to himself.) The thing is, she isn’t stupid. She knows- she _must_ know that he didn’t want to leave, that he didn’t want her to leave, that he wanted to do better.

She’s panting a little, and he thinks fondly that she probably and unnecessarily ran from her car. He should probably invite her in or offer her a drink or get her in front of a fan or do anything other than lean against the doorframe and determinedly not follow the drop of sweat sliding down her neck with his eyes.

She seems like she has something to say though, so he’d stand there quietly, waiting for her to gather her thoughts and calm her breathing. She’d reach for his hands, but he wouldn’t let her- not at first. He’s gotta look out for his heart when it comes to her- he learned that the hard way. 

“I missed you,” she would say. “I want you- all of you, every offensive and wonderfully infuriating part,” she would say. “I’m willing to take a risk on us,” she would say. “Remember how good we were, how happy we made each other? I want that again,” she would say. “I know we screwed up, but I also know we can fix it,” she would say. (He’s not even drunk but he’s admitting he wants shitty and cliche and lame too- what has she done to him?)

His phone vibrates for the twentieth time. He groans and goes over to pick it up, scrolling up to the last text he’d read in the family chat before he’d thrown his phone across the room.

 **Spacey:** Actually, I was wondering how everyone would feel if I brought Mark back with me for Christmas. Things are getting pretty serious with us, and he doesn’t really have family of his own to spend Christmas with. He really enjoyed meeting you all at my birthday dinner, so I figured I would ask him if he wanted to come back home with me. But I wanted to ask you all first and see if you would be okay with it. No pressure either! 😊😊😊

He rolls his eyes. Only Casey would send a literal paragraph as a text message.

 **Nora:** Absolutely! Nobody should be alone on Christmas!

 **Indentured Servant:** I’m gonna put mistletoe ALL over the house!

 **Lizard:** Why?? Why would you even want that?  
  
**Smarti:** <https://tenor.com/view/mistletoe-the-office-gif-7331667>

**Spacey:** As usual, this got very weird very fast. I take it everyone’s okay with it then?

 **Dad:** As long as Mark is prepared for me to decimate him once more in a debate.

 **Indentured Servant:** I thought he won?

 **Nora:** I believe we agreed on a tie?

 **Lizard:** I definitely think George lost.

 **Smarti:** <https://tenor.com/view/harrypotter-ronweasley-hermionegranger-dumbledore-dreams-gif-5435215>

*Indentured Servant laughed at an image*

*Dad disliked an image*

 **Dad:** At the very least it was a tie…

 **Spacey:** Does Derek have no snarky comments to share? I expected verbose input from him…

**Smarti:<https://tenor.com/view/star-wars-anakin-sassy-excited-fun-begins-gif-4830492>**

*Indentured Servant laughed at an image*

 **Lizard:** Maybe he had to go to class or something?

 **Indentured Servant:** Given that a, it is almost midnight and b, Christmas vacation started today, that’s one of the dumber suggestions you’ve made

 **Smarti:** <https://tenor.com/view/attitude-women-you-better-watch-yourself-gif-14444192>

**Lizard:** Marti was always smarter than you, Ed

 **Dad:** Seriously though, Derek are you still there?

 **Nora:** Maybe someone should call him?

**Indentured Servant:<https://tenor.com/view/iceage-nothanks-gif-9927583>**

Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. In another couple minutes, someone really _will_ call him. He can do this. He’s Derek fucking Venturi- nobody can put on a facade like him.

 **Derek:** Can a man not hit on the cute chick who lives next door and doesn’t appear to own anything other than yoga pants in peace?

Geez.

Like I care about Spacey’s dull, irritating lawyer boyfriend anyways

Marti answers before he even finishes typing the third message.

**Smarti:<https://tenor.com/view/spiderman-hes-back-daily-bugle-gif-9077753>**

**Lizard:** Classy as always, Derek

 **Indentured Servant:** I’m confused as to why the yoga pants are important

 **Lizard:** And with that, I am going to sleep

 **Nora:** Georgie is actually already sleeping, and I’m pretty tired myself. Offer Mark an enthusiastic invitation from us all, sweetheart. If you must corrupt your brother Derek, do it on a private chat please.

 **Indentured Servant:** Wait what?

 **Smarti:** <https://tenor.com/view/homer-simpson-simpsons-bush-hide-gif-6118837>

**Derek:** I’m out too. Edwin, do not ever ask me about anything having to do with girls or yoga pants on a private chat.

He sighs, shoving his phone into his pocket and heading off to get ready for bed. When did his facades get so exhausting? It’s just shortly after midnight and he’s going to bed- how fucking lame is that?

He slides into bed and glances again at his phone while he plugs it in. The group chat has a couple more notifications, but he guarantees that they are stupid enough to wait for morning. He has one separate notification, though- from a contact that hasn’t been in his recent messages for nearly a year.

 **Spacey:** Are we okay?

He stares at the message for a minute in silence and mounting annoyance. Are we okay? What the fuck is he supposed to say to that?? He tries to think of an appropriately scathing response for a minute, but ultimately decides to fall back on his old, tried and true approach. He deletes the message and rolls over to go to sleep.

_And that’s how it works. That’s how you lost the girl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from "How You Get the Girl"- which is actually a really happy and cute song. I have turned it into a bit of an angst fest for the purposes of my fic, but the song itself is lovely and super cute, and y'all should go listen to it. Thanks for all the comments and kudos. I'm actually having a blast writing this story, and it's gratifying to know that other people are enjoying reading it since I'm enjoying writing it so much.


	4. The Smile I'm Fakin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You were wild and crazy, just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated, got away by some mistake and now I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I am back. I'm still not happy with this, but I promised myself I would get it out by today, so... here you go. I might edit it like a thousand times or just never read it again, we'll see. But anyways, enjoy, kudos, comment, you know the drill- thanks for your patience waiting for me to churn out these angst platters. You are all appreciated. ❤️❤️

Casey died her hair blonde a week before she had to go home for Christmas vacation, two weeks since Derek had walked out on her with no explanation. She thought it would make her feel better. She thought she would show up and be able to meet his gaze all disdainful and unconcerned. ‘New hair, who dis?’ 

He’d told her she looked like a wannabe model. She’d “accidentally” spilled the gravy in his lap and said that, considering he’d called her both his muse and his best subject, there wasn’t much of a wannabe element about it. 

It was the wrong thing to say. He’d stiffened at her words, noticeably kicked Edwin under the table, and loudly announced that he’d moved out of the apartment in early December, because he just couldn’t handle having to deal with Spacey all the time anymore.

She knew that she was the one to bring them up in the first place, however indirectly- knew even that he wouldn’t have said anything about it otherwise, but it’s the first time that she has got any sort of answer from him, and it’s just vague enough that she thinks it may even be the truth. She doesn’t answer; she can’t summon the energy for a fight that will feel too real. He’d rolled his eyes at her, shoved back from the table, and stalked off to his room where he spent the rest of his break- other than the New Year’s countdown that George forced him to join.

She went back to Toronto early and deep cleaned the apartment top to bottom, scrubbing every surface she could think of as if she could somehow scrub his presence out. She put up an ad for the available room and declined the payment he had had the audacity to send her from the floor of his teammates’ dorm room. She buried anything that reminded her of him in the back of her closet and texted Emily for the first time in far too long for the subsequent shopping spree. The headscarf had been Emily’s idea and it had made her think of his stupid scarf, buried in the back of her bedside table drawer, so she had bought it. Emily had also taken the photo for her- she’s leaned against a brick wall and faced slightly away from the camera wearing her new sunglasses and headscarf and she looks fantastic. She posts it with the caption ‘felt like a model today’ and revels in the petty rush she feels with each new like and comment. (He doesn’t say anything, but she knows that he’s seen it by the look in his eyes the next time she sees him on campus wearing the scarf.)

She wears it often. It was expensive enough to justify frequent use and the look he gets every time he sees her in it never gets old. It becomes a bit of a security blanket for her, and she throws it on any time she needs an extra bit of confidence. So of course she’d put it on for her Psych 100 final. The class had been kicking her ass all semester and she knew she’d get her final paper back after the exam, so she figured it couldn’t hurt to at least look good as her grade crumbled around her ears.

The problem, Casey reflected, was that it was ridiculously windy for April 26 in Toronto. Windy enough that when she had stepped out of the building after the final, flipping through the comments on her final paper, the scarf, which was a bit less secure than usual to begin with given how haphazardly she had replaced it before leaving the room, practically flew off her head. When she tried to grab it, she lost her grip on the paper, which was also torn from her by the evidently malicious wind. 

She actually spent half a second trying to decide which one she should chase after, which says a lot about how much of a security blanket the scarf had become (or perhaps just how expensive the stupid thing was), but ultimately decided to get her paper. Of course, it doesn’t end up mattering since, when she turns around clutching the crumpled reclaimed paper triumphantly, there’s someone a couple feet away, holding out her scarf to her anyways. Her heart skips a beat for a second, since he looks a bit like Derek at first glance. Upon closer inspection however, she sees he’s a bit less built than Derek, with a gentler demeanour and piercing blue eyes that cause her heart to skip a beat for an entirely different reason.

“I believe this is yours,” he says softly and he has an accent because of course he does. Of course he’s handsome and gentle and British when she’s been crawling around in the grass with messy hair, loudly swearing as she tried to grasp her paper.

“Um!” She says, ever eloquent as she tries to find a way to scramble to her feet with dignity and take the scarf back from him. “Yes, it is. Thank you.”

She curtsies at him for some bizarre reason after saying this, and wonders whether it’s possible to literally die of embarrassment and whether that might not be easier than continuing this conversation. 

He laughs softly at her but doesn’t seem otherwise dissuaded. Of course, that could just be because he’s still holding the scarf she hasn’t taken from him for some reason. “Oh! God,” she winces as she realizes this and snatches it from him with more force than is necessary, “I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not normally such a mess. It’s just… you know… new semester, new me.”

This makes very little sense, but the nice British boy does not point this out. He just says, “I hope not. I like the you I’ve seen so far.”

Her brain kinda freezes at this. Is he flirting with her? Is this random, attractive, British boy flirting with her? Is this the return from the universe she’s been asking for vainly since she met Derek? (It’s the thoughts like this, that come out of nowhere right when the wounds are starting to scab over that hurt her the most.)

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew me,” she says, for equally incomprehensible reasons. 

“Well, maybe I can be the judge of that,” he laughs as if she isn’t the most awkward, worst flirt in the world. “Maybe I can take you out sometime? How about this Monday after your first shift?”

“My first shift?” Her eyebrows furrow at this. Of course he’s a creep. Heaven forbid things might actually work out for her for once.

“Oh!” He flushes and rubs the back of his neck (he looks so much like Derek when he does this that her breath catches for a second). “I suppose it’s a little arrogant to expect you to remember me. We met on Tuesday? You’re the new student librarian assistant they hired for the summer and I’m the head student librarian? We briefly met when you were leaving Corinne’s office?”

“Oh! Oh my God yes! Of course. Shit, I’m so sorry. I mean- shit- no not shi- I mean, I…,” her voice trails off as she desperately tries to pull herself together and stop swearing at the classy boy who is sort of her new boss. Of course Derek is ruining this for her without even being there. “I’m sorry. I meant to say that I do remember you now and I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize you and I’m… sorry.” 

He chuckles again, softly. “I get the feeling you say that a lot. You have nothing to be sorry for. I tend to be arrogant sometimes, so  _ I’m _ sorry. I know that’s not exactly an attractive quality.” (Casey swallows down the hysterical laugh rising in her throat at this comment with difficulty.) “Let me make it up to you? Dinner this Monday?”

It’s so bizarre that this is still working out for her that she can hardly process the fact that this attractive British boy is asking her out  _ again.  _ He likes her. He’s seen her acting like a crazy person and he still wants to take her out. Maybe  _ he  _ could handle dealing with her. (This is ultimately the reason why she says yes and she refuses to dissect these motivations for even an instant.)

She smiles as flirtatiously as she can (she can almost smell Derek’s cologne for a second and hear his laughter. “Is this how you managed to get a quarterback, Case?”) and cocks her head at him. “I reserve the right to answer your request until I learn what sort of coworker you are. I’ll let you know how I feel after my shift.”

She tries to turn on her heel and float away mysteriously but she trips and crashes into him instead (and she can’t help wishing he’d laugh at her for it). He catches her around the waist and straightens her, stepping back out of her personal space as soon as is gentlemanly possible. (There must be something wrong with her, because since when is being a gentleman unattractive??) 

“Sounds good. I’ll be on my best behaviour then.”

She convinces herself there’s butterflies in her chest and stars in her eyes as she rests her hand on his arm. “Looking forward to it. I’m Casey, by the way.”

“Brilliant. It’s wonderful to officially meet you, Casey. I’m Mark.” 

Mark is… perfect. He is literally perfect. He’s kind and interesting and handsome and smart. He’s always willing to listen to her talk, and never pushes her for anything she doesn’t want to share. He remembers the little things she says and makes a point of following up with her on those things. He is eminently reasonable- the most calm, measured, least dramatic person she has ever met. He doesn’t let her spiral or overthink, but he also never makes her feel bad about her tendencies to do so. He just calmly takes her hands in his and talks her off the ledge. It’s good for her.  _ He  _ is good for her.

He’s always so respectful of her needs too. If she wants to be left alone, he just does it. If she wants to be held, he asks no questions, just takes her into his arms. He shows up for dates early and waits while she prepares with no complaining. If he says that he’ll call her, he does. He never gets caught up in his things and forgets about her. All her girlfriends are so jealous and it’s sort of like dating the school quarterback all over again- heady and thrilling. He meets the family on her 19th birthday and he gets along with everyone so well (even Derek, who manages to fuck up her whole week with his performance at the dinner). He makes her mom laugh and playfully debates with George and he even impresses her father (there’s talk of a possible internship for him at her dad’s company). And it’s all so perfect. He is wonderful. He is so wonderful that it actually makes her angry how not in love she is with him. 

She  _ likes  _ him! Of course she likes him! How could she not like him? He’s the sweetest person in the world- entirely unproblematic and non-judgemental. She really likes him. And she  _ wants  _ to be in love with him- she feels like she deserves points for that- but he just… he  _ never  _ fights with her. She knows that she sounds insane- it wouldn’t surprise her if Derek had literally driven her there- but she just misses that spark that Derek never failed to light in her. Mark never disagrees with her, and he never frustrates her- beyond frustrating her that he doesn’t frustrate her- and he doesn’t challenge or criticize her and he backpedals immediately as soon as she seems even mildly upset and she is aware that she sounds crazy, okay?! She tried to explain this to Emily and it went over so poorly that Casey is determined to take it to her grave.

It’s just… Well, take tonight for example. Mark is coming home with her for Christmas, since he doesn’t have much of a family to begin with and the family he does have are all in Britain. He’d come to pick her up from her place, since they were driving back to London together. He’d come up to the door, helped her carry all her luggage down, opened and shut the car door for her, had her admittedly kinda complicated coffee order sitting in the cupholder for her, and literally said (in his accent!): “Every time I think I get used to your beauty, you blow me away all over again”. And I mean, for fuck’s sake, she was in sweats and a hoodie!!

It was so sweet! He is SO sweet! And she’s not made of stone, she  _ did  _ blush and smile a little. But then… they’d pulled in the driveway, and he’d been leaning against the car ( _ their _ car, what a fucking asshole), smoking- which he told her he would stop doing- and he had made some comment about how she’d really phoned it in for good ol’ Mike’s first Christmas with the family. And it was unbelievable! It was unbelievable and inappropriate and just so fucking frustrating, and she felt more staring at him for that brief insult than she had in her entire relationship with Mark. And that couldn’t be right, could it? Or maybe it was? Maybe this was how all adult relationships were supposed to be, and she just couldn’t see that because everything with Derek had been so unhealthy from the very beginning. I mean, what did she know about balanced, adult relationships? She was pretty much flying blind here. (She wishes she could talk to Paul about this sometimes- imagines how he would look and react when she told him. She wishes she could talk to  _ someone _ .) 

But still… was this just the way the rest of her life was going to go? Would any guy put up with that? I mean, Mark was a saint, but he wasn’t stupid, and she didn’t know how long she could keep up her fake smile for. Why had she thought a whole week home with the family (her ex and current boyfriend under the same roof- with nobody but her and her ex knowing that as if it all wasn’t complicated enough) was a good idea?! It was a horrendously, impressively, ridiculously  _ bad  _ idea! 

She’s on the porch, because she needs a breather from all this and because she’s an awful girlfriend like that. (He had let her go with no argument, despite his obvious discomfort, and since when was she so selfish?)

“You know, if  _ my  _ girlfriend brought me home for the holidays and then left me alone with her family for 20 minutes while she had a meltdown on the front porch, I’d be pretty fucking pissed about it.” Derek saunters out the front door, coming over to lean on the railing next to her, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke in her face for no other reason than that he is an asshole.

She waves the smoke away and glares at him. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, Mark is  _ nothing  _ like you!” The words are honest, the inflection behind them less so, but it is this that he understands. His face gets somehow even blanker than it already was and his words feel a bit more venomous than usual. 

“Thank God for that! The day I become even a tiny bit like  _ Mark,”  _ he spits the name out as if the very shape of it on his tongue will infect him, “please take me out behind the barn and put a bullet in my head.”

“I will do no such thing!” She screeches at his retreating back, as he strolls off the porch and into the cold winter night.

He gives her the middle finger over his shoulder with the hand not holding his cigarette, and then obviously thinks better of it. He stops dead in the middle of the driveway and turns completely back toward her. “Yeah, I guess I forgot. You can’t exactly be relied upon to look after me.”

It is a low blow. It is an unfair, low blow from the guy who just ‘couldn’t handle her’. How like him to blame all of this on her. How like him to act as if he was the only one that got hurt, as if  _ she  _ let  _ him  _ down. She’s so angry that she can’t speak for a minute, and by the time she summons any sort of response, he has shrugged and moved off down the street already.

She steps out to follow him, but it’s snowing and she isn’t dressed appropriately and the wet droplets lashing her skin remind her too much of the night before they left for Queen’s, so she doesn’t get farther than the bottom step of the porch stairs. She stands rooted to the snowy board, her tears mingling with the snow melting on her face, and remembers….

She’s 18 and unable to distinguish what part of the butterflies in her stomach are from excitement, nerves, frustration, or the way she can’t help but feel whenever Derek gets close to her. 

He is very close to her because it is nearing two in the morning and everyone else was in bed a long time ago, and their argument consists of hissed insults and steadily increasing muffled annoyance. He’s pissed at her because she’s convinced George and her mom that it makes more sense financially for them to share an apartment during the upcoming school year, or maybe he’s pissed because she told him that the only reason she said so is because it makes the most logical sense, or maybe it’s because she told him he could have girls over whenever he wanted as long as he gave her a bit of warning. It’s hard to know for sure since his frustration has clearly been mounting over the whole conversation, but it was with that final, rather gracious concession she thought, that he had scoffed and stormed off into the late August rain.

“Yeah, that’s right!” She hisses at his back, “Just leave! See if I give a shit!”

He doesn’t answer and she’s not sure whether he is deliberately ignoring her or whether he didn’t hear her. Either way, she can’t let the conversation end there. “Fuck you,” she mutters under her breath before she darts out into the rain after him. It’s a light, warm rain and it doesn’t inhibit her much, especially since she’s running and he clearly hadn’t expected her to come after him.

She grasps his shoulder and spins him around, slipping and nearly face-planting on the wet pavement of the sidewalk in front of the house in the process. His lips twitch, but he’s evidently restraining the smile her klutziness usually draws out. 

“Okay, fine!” She says, all in a rush, because she hasn’t thought this through at all and has no plan beyond just not letting him leave. “I don’t want to be alone next year, is that what you want to hear? I want to stay with you and I don’t want to lose whatever this is that we’ve started over the summer. We’ve been back in London for like a week now and I already miss you and I don’t want to go back to the way we used to be. I want to be with you, Derek, I-”

He cuts her off, launching himself at her and kissing her so intensely that she completely forgets then what she was about to say. She remembers after, though. She’d been about to tell him that she loved him. 

She wonders many times afterwards about what might have happened if he had let her say it, if anything might have been different. Sometimes she thinks it would have been, that things would have been clearer between them from the very beginning, that he might not have been quite so negligent with her heart had he known that he had it. Other times, she thinks they were always doomed and telling him would have only given them another thing to throw in each other’s faces. She’s not sure which one makes it worse.

She wonders now about what might happen if she finds the courage to follow him out into the snow. It had been snowing the night they imploded, there would be something particularly poetic if it was snowing the night that… what? What did she think was gonna happen here anyways? She was in a healthy relationship and sure, it was boring, but it was also safe and she was comfortable. She could do a lot worse than Mark.

“Casey? Is everything all right, love? You’re going to catch a chill standing out in the snow.”

She shakes herself slightly and turns to go back up to the porch where Mark is waiting in the doorway, watching her with concern. “Sorry,” she laughs lightly, “I was a little lost for a second there.”

He reaches up and wipes under her eyes, the concern easing only slightly. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Oh yeah!” She laughs again. “That’s just from the snow.”

It is a blatant lie, but it’s one that he lets her tell. She can’t imagine him ever forcing her to confront uncomfortable truths. He’s just too nice. “Well alright. We were all thinking of watching a movie if you and Derek wanted to join us? Marti said she thought he had come out here?”

“Yeah, he did. He went for a walk, though. It’s fine anyways. He doesn’t like most family movies.”

“He went for a walk?” Mark peers out into the gloom, “In this weather? How odd. I mean, to each their own, but I would personally never do such a thing.”

_ You really wouldn’t _ , Casey thinks and if she resents him a bit for it, well that’s between her and her own crazy self. With no Paul to talk to, she has to come up with the answers on her own, and she thinks she’s allowed to make the adult decision and still wish she wasn’t. It’s like going to talk to a scary professor or do a class speech- part of growing up is sucking it up and doing the things that you don’t want to.

Because she’s mature and honest enough to admit that, though she knows she could do worse than Mark and she appreciates how safe and comfortable she feels with him, she does miss the thrill and depth of utter raw emotion that she always has when she is with Derek. So if she has to love Mark and miss Derek with every fiber of her being at the same time, then she can do that. She’s Casey McDonald and she’s never met a challenge she couldn’t best. And if she feels a bit guilty about it, well there’s no Paul around to point it out anymore, and she’s gotten good at keeping her emotions to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casey's mindset concerning dressing nice for exams and getting papers back and stuff is my own, and it actually does work! You feel more confident and secure and in control, and at the very least, even if you bomb it- you look great doing so haha 😂😂 At least, that's the way it works for me. This chapter is based on an older TSwift bop: "The Way I Loved You". Which is the song that actually inspired this entire fic, because it has reminded me of Dasey since I was like 10 years old and had just discovered both of these lifelong obsessions.


	5. Running Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I forget about you long enough to forget why I needed to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks around vainly for an excuse for why this chapter is so late and I just sort of fell off the face of the planet for a month*  
> *has no viable excuse*  
> *hopes that the grace of my readers and the strength of this chapter (ha) makes up for it*
> 
> Legit though. I have no excuse. I've just been lazy and working lots and annoyed with the general state of the world and it's been sapping my motivation and muse. I'm sorry for how long this has been, and I promise that I will finish this- even if it takes a ridiculously long time sigh. Thanks for your patience and love readers. I adore you all and you are the reason I found some motivation and forced myself to sit down and finish this. 🥰🥰 (I'm honestly still not happy with it, but I figured you guys have waited long enough lol). Hope you enjoy!

“No, no,” Casey protests, taking the opportunity the red light presents to turn and face Derek where he sulks in the passenger seat. “I’m not saying that the scarf is pretentious.”

She waits until his pout subsides and he flips down the passenger visor mirror to straighten said scarf for the millionth time to clarify: “I’m saying that you  _ in  _ the scarf is pretentious.”

Derek wants to be offended and, to be honest, he is a little miffed. What does she know anyway? He is an artiste now and he requires clothing that reflects that. 

He can’t muster much annoyance, though. The autumn wind from the open windows as they tear down the highway into London is messing up their hair, and Casey’s windblown appearance coupled with her absolute glee at how clever her insult had been has him laughing fondly in spite of himself.

He yanks off the scarf and plops it on her head more as a matter of principle than anything else. “Fine then.  _ You  _ wear it if I’m the problem.”

“Der-EK!” She yelps. “You’re gonna get us into an accident.” She tugs it off her head but, at the next red light, she flips down her own visor and uses the mirror to drape the scarf around her head like some kind of French model. She turns to look at him, adjusting her sunglasses and giving him what he’s sure is supposed to be a sexy look but which really comes off more as a constipated grimace. “How do I look?” She asks in a posh, breathy accent.

“Honestly?” He grins. “That face will haunt my dreams. Is this how you managed to get a quarterback, Case?”

She rolls her eyes and swats at him. “Der- EK! You’re such a jerk.”

They are words that she’s said a million times before, but there’s nothing but softness behind them and it prompts some rare honesty from him.

“But um,” he clears his suddenly dry throat, “the scarf itself? Well, I mean, it is a director’s scarf so it’s not really meant to be draped on pretty girl’s heads, but yeah… it’s nice, I mean, you’re nice, I mean, fuck! You look… nice.”

The speech was fucking lame and he knows it, but before he can wallow, she grins and says in her adorable prim voice, “Thank you. I think you’re pretty and nice too.”

He stares at her, feeling a literal blush crawling up his cheeks, and tries to think of something suave and light to say to dispel this stupid tension that’s gonna have him saying something he will regret.

He ends up screeching, “Case! The red!” which isn’t what he had been hoping for but it did the trick. 

She hits the brakes just in time and he waits until the silence in the Prince is thick and her face is pink from embarrassment to say, “Really Case?  _ I’m  _ gonna get us in an accident?”

She flushes an even deeper pink and mutters, “Fuck off.”

He had intended to make fun of her a little bit more but he’s both shocked by and proud of her response so he lets it go. Besides,  _ Don’t Stop Believin’  _ comes on in the car and so of course he has to crank the stereo and pretend to play the intro piano riff.

She rolls her eyes at his antics. “I’m sorry, are you suddenly a drunk white girl?”

In response, he points at her and belts, “Just a small town girl! Livin’ in a lonely world! She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere!!”

She rolls her eyes again, but she chimes in with “just a city boy” as he had known she would and by the end of the song, they’re both drowning out the music with how loud they are. They’ve also missed the turn to Lizzie’s new place and are definitely lost.

Casey is working herself into a panic attack, so Derek reminds her of this nifty thing called Google Maps and offers to drive if she’ll navigate. He’s not sure if this is actually helpful, but he’s not exactly equipped to deal with this sort of thing. It must not be the worst thing to do because she puts her hand over his on the gearshift and tugs it into her lap, lacing their fingers. She holds it the whole way to Lizzie’s and he lets her, even though he has to wrench his arm to be able to do the turns with one hand.

Lizzie’s new place is a shithole. It is genuinely one of the shittiest apartments Derek has ever seen. But she’s beaming with pride and her words are tripping over each other in her enthusiasm at having her own place.

She decided to move out early and finish her grade 12 courses remotely, but her life is still less of a mess than his has ever been as usual. She has a couple of jobs and her own place and an internship lined up with some prestigious environmental rights group.

_ She’s also not fucking/ in some sort of pseudo relationship with her step sister,  _ his subconscious helpfully points out.

Today isn’t about his shit, though. His shit can take a day off. Today is about her shit: his little Lizard. He’s so fucking proud of her. So he listens patiently, aimlessly snooping through her stuff as she recounts every single second of every single day that has passed since she last saw Casey.

She has two photo albums stacked on a teetering bookshelf, one called ‘pre-hurricane’ and the other called ‘post-hurricane’. He pulls them out, expecting a record of some environmental disaster and hoping for film inspiration.

That’s not what he finds, though. He picks up the ‘pre-hurricane’ one first and, not immediately recognizing the small family of a mother and her child and baby depicted on the front cover, he picks up the next one. The cover picture on that one is undeniably familiar to him. 

It’s one of the photos from the wedding. Edwin is behind Marti, stretching her face into a smile (she had been mad, Derek remembers, because she wasn’t allowed to have another piece of cake). Casey is obviously in the middle of an argument with him, Derek, and his eyes are locked on hers in a clearly mocking pretension of attention (he doesn’t even believe his own bullshit anymore). George and Nora are sort of shrugging at one another, eyes locked and lips quirked good naturedly. Lizzie is the only one actually looking at the camera. 

It’s a perfect depiction of their family, and a quick skim through the album reveals much of the same which probably means that the Venturis themselves are the “hurricane” referenced in the album titles. Meaning that…

He picks up the first album again. On closer inspection the photo on the front is clearly a younger Nora, while the child bears enough resemblance to Casey that he feels comfortable assuming that the baby she holds confidently is Lizzie herself. He doesn’t see Dennis and it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know when Casey’s parents divorced or even much of the why behind it. He wonders if she would tell him if he asked. He wonders if he would tell her about his own mom if  _ she  _ asked. It should scare him more that he’s pretty sure he would.

He asks Lizzie to borrow the albums before they leave, a vague, unformed idea of making some sort of short film about Casey in his head. Lizzie agrees but Casey overhears them and snatches them away from him, blushing and begging him not to look at the old photos of her, asserting that middle school was not a good time for her. He wrestles it back from her, assuring her that middle school was not a good time for anyone and that he would let her see any photos his dad had kicking around the next time they were at home.

They are not being subtle at all, despite Casey’s many  _ many  _ lectures and the promises she’d extracted from him to behave normally. (As if he was the one that would have a problem with that.) He does not think he is imagining the quirk in Lizzie’s eyebrow and resigns himself to dodging calls from Ed for the next little while. Nevertheless, it was a good day. A good day made even better by the unprompted quiet confessions Casey shares with him as they drive back to their place in Kingston.

She tells him about playing soccer as a kid, about how awful she was and how constant the scraped elbows and knees were. She tells him about the thick spectacles she outgrew and the teasing she endured over them. She tells him about discovering dance and how for the first time in her life she hadn’t felt awkward or out of place or klutzy, but fluid and graceful and in control. She tells him how heady that feeling was, how desperate she was to hold onto it. She tells him about how civil the split between her parents was and how hurtful that had been for her, a lover of drama and romantic comedies. It had felt as if her dad did not care, as if he did not want to fight for them, as if he could not be bothered to put any effort in on her behalf. She tells him how the divorce was her mom’s idea and it had felt like a betrayal. She tells him how this made her draw away from Nora for most of middle school and how it is one of her greatest regrets.

She tells him about Vicki and her friends and how constantly they teased her. She tells him about how it hurt her as much as it taught her how to stand up for herself. She tells him of the hours of practice and the tears and the bruises she suffered through to gain the coveted dance solo and the smug triumph she enjoyed when she beat Vicki’s prima donna friend to earn it. She tells him of the isolation of being the goody two shoes straight A student at an all girls private school. She admits that she herself felt boring and lame and predictable and that now, looking back, she can appreciate the spark that the Venturis brought into her life.

She tells him how hard it was for her at first to watch Lizzie excel at soccer, and how jealous she was of Lizzie’s seeming ability to seamlessly fit in everywhere. She tells him that she is still jealous of her sometimes. She’s jealous of her confidence and her composure and how utterly disdainful of and removed from all the common melodrama of Casey’s life she seems to be. She tells him more than she has ever shared before; she tells him things she has never told anyone else.

It might be exhaustion or it might be the safety that a dark and quiet night seems to imply, but Derek dares to imagine that it is trust. He dares to imagine that she trusts him with her past and maybe even with her future. It makes him feel embarrassingly warm and gooey inside. It makes him want to return the gesture somehow, which is where the idea comes from. It’s less refined than her gesture and arguably unnecessary and obnoxious, but what else is new?

He’s thinking of her love of dance and he’s thinking of how he wishes he had known more of this back in the days when she hated him. So he finds that stupid song they’d danced to for her dumb competition (it’s saved on his phone shut up) and sneaks up behind her while she’s putting the leftovers from the restaurant Lizzie had taken them to in the fridge. She falls in sync with him as flawlessly as ever and in the middle of the kitchen at one in the morning by the light of the open fridge, they perform their dance duet all over again.

He’s forgotten some of it but she covers for him and keeps the dance afloat in spite of this. The whole thing feels so different this time around too. Nobody is denying or ignoring the energy between them, and before they can finish, Derek crowds her against the kitchen counter in an urgent kiss. He pulls back and drags her off to the bedroom with a quip about how it is time for the dance that  _ he  _ is the master of. He cuts off her likely snarky retort by tugging off his shirt and tossing it back into her face.

In the midst of her spluttering around the fabric, he realizes something. “Hey. What’d you do with my scarf?”

Casey chucks the shirt back at him and frowns thoughtfully. “I’m not entirely sure... I think I might have left it at Lizzie’s.”

Derek drops the shirt in shock. “What?? Case, are you serious? That scarf cost me like two weeks’ salary! And I know you didn’t like it, but I… happened… to…,” he trails off as she unzips and steps out of her summer dress.

“I think,” she smirks, “we can work out a way for me to make it up to you.”

He grimaces at her. “You can’t keep doing that to distract me from my legitimate annoyances,” he protests, but they both know it is half hearted and his hands are already reaching for the tantalizing expanse of skin she’s blatantly flaunting in front of him.

He forces himself to reach for his phone first, though. He makes a deliberate point of texting Lizzie about his scarf, drawing it out and highlighting his concern over it and disappointment in Casey- just to show her who’s boss. (He literally drops it in his haste to chase after her after she huffs and says she’s going to start without him, unsure if the message even sent.)

It clearly did sens since, some hours later, as he is creeping to the fridge to pilfer the leftovers Casey had carefully stored in them, he sees that Lizzie answered him. She assures him that she will leave it with Casey whenever she next sees her again.

To be honest, Derek had completely forgotten about the damn thing until Lizzie had casually brought it up while they were in the kitchen earlier “washing dishes”. (Translation: Lizzie was washing dishes, Derek was practicing his towel whip skills on a squealing Edwin and Marti was alternately drying and rating his strikes). She tells him that she saw it tucked in the back of Casey’s bedside table when she had gone up to Toronto last weekend. She was going to say something to Casey, but decided that it might be better to wait and ask him what he wanted her to do instead, given whatever had happened between them last winter. 

He had not been able then to handle the perceptive pity in Lizzie’s eyes, so he had gone out to the front porch for a quick smoke. And lo and behold, who should be there but the exalted drama queen herself, unable (or perhaps it is unwilling) to take a day off from making him feel like shit- not even for Christmas.

So now here he is, storming along the deserted streets of London in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, strategically kicking clumps of muddy snow into the various front yard snow sculptures and people. Welcome to the real world, children of London. Christmas wasn’t a perfect time when all your shit magically disappeared and everything just worked out for you ‘cause the universe somehow gave a shit about where the earth was in relation to the sun (or something like that- fuck every minute he had spent studying for that motherfucking Astronomy exam with Casey). If anything, Christmas was the worst time of year. You could rename and appropriate it all you want, you still had to face your shit. And sometimes, children of London, some asshole comes along and ruins all your hard work for no reason other than the fact that his ex is a bitch and her new boyfriend is hard to hate.

_ To be fair,  _ his inner monologue helpfully pipes up,  _ most people don’t spend Christmas with their ex, since most people don’t actually come from the same home as them.  _ Derek picks up a chunk of snow with his hands this time and hurls it at the nearest snowman.

He misses and this just makes him angrier. “FUCK!!” he screams loudly. Immediately realizing that this will likely get him in trouble on such a quiet and respectable culdesac, he turns tail and books it to the relative safety of Sam’s place.

Luckily for him, Sam’s place is nearby and he has always been the best friend that Derek doesn’t deserve. At Derek’s arrival on his doorstep, he simply sighs and drags him down the hallway to his room without a word. He throws him a sweatshirt, since Derek has been marching through the snow without a winter jacket like a crazy person, and turns on a shitty video game. (But not Babe Raider- never Babe Raider. Babe Raider is yet another thing she managed to thoroughly fuck up for him.) He asks no questions and seems to expect no explanations. He is undoubtedly the greatest best friend Derek will ever have.

Derek wouldn’t even have answers for him if he did ask. He doesn’t know why it is this knowledge- that stupid motherfucking scarf in her bedside table- that has finally broken down his facades. 

Does she even know she has it? Does she glance at it as she reaches for her journal or before she grabs a condom for her and Matt’s (or whatever the fuck his shitty name is) nightly vanilla “lovemaking” ritual? Or has she completely forgotten about its existence and just doesn’t care anymore?

It doesn’t matter either way. Everything he’s been trying so hard to hold back is rushing over him now- every memory, every joke, every moment, every fight- and it’s awful. It’s like he is drowning in shame and regret and burning, blazing, incinerating anger.

“You okay?” Sam finally ventures, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t seem like yourself.”

Derek snorts in response. Himself. Who even is that anymore? He’s trying to be himself, he’s been trying to be himself for over a year now, but he can’t quite remember how to do that anymore. Nothing he does seems quite right, like his script is missing every other word or like he’s speaking every line just a split second after his cue. He  _ is _ okay… but he is also not.

They had had something wonderful together, him and her. Sure it was messy and awkward and difficult, but it was also amazing and beautiful and  _ good _ . It is something that he knows even now he will never have again. He is quite certain that ‘okay but not’ will be the way that he feels for the rest of his life, resigns himself to it even.

And just like that: the anger vanishes. He is no longer angry. He is no longer anything. He is simply okay- he’s Derek fucking Venturi, he’s  _ always  _ okay- but he is not fine, and he doesn’t think he ever will be again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if the ages and time lengths all make sense, but... *shrugs* Did I ever specify the length of the relationship?? I can't find a place that I did, but idk man. It's one of those things that when I read other people's works I never even think about these things, but when I write mine, I have some sort of idea that I'm gonna greatly offend you all with my inability to do math and/ or specify time lengths lol.
> 
> This is from TSwift's "All Too Well", which is hands down one of my favourite songs by her and one of her best. (I said what I said.) I've been singing it nonstop for like a month as I slogged through writing this chapter, and I'm sure my family will be happy to hear a new song now that I have finally "finished" it 😂😂


	6. Punching Holes in the Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe"
> 
> Just a warning: Casey is mildly depressed at the start of the story and really beats herself up for a good portion of it, so tread carefully. But it ends up being pretty pure I think, so I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some really disappointing and upsetting news regarding one of my top fandoms that I have been invested in for a long time this week, and it really rattled me, but it also made me so unbelievably grateful for all of you! I made a point of finishing this chapter because you all deserve it. I love you all so much- the readers, the writers, the commenters, those who leave kudos, the artists, the makers of videos etc. etc.- I think that your guys' passion and enthusiasm and dedication to your fandoms is genuinely one of the most beautiful things in our current world. You guys engage with this for the sheer love of it- you aren't getting paid, and you still sometimes get the criticism and judgement and hostility of others for it, and yet you just keep giving back. All sorts of people from all over the world joining together to add something new to the fandoms that we all love. The commitment to authentic characterization and realistic plots, and the honesty and support I usually find here blows me away and continues to rekindle my love for these fandoms and their characters and the power of passionate and dedicated writing done for the sheer love of it. I love you all so much, and I am honored to be a part of the process. Thank you.

Casey’s breakup with Mark was mutual, painless, and predictable enough that both Lizzie and Marti made a tiny sum off Edwin, the incurable romantic. She doesn’t know what prompted the conversation, but it probably had something to do with how Derek had returned to Toronto early after Christmas and nobody had apparently seen him since. Some people might say that she had been a little moody as a result of this. Mark, in fact, said that she had been a little moody and asked if it was a result of it. 

Casey had not been able to maintain any pretense that day and had just nodded and collapsed on the couch. She had sent in Marti, but not even Marti had been able to get in contact with him; it was like he had fallen off the face of the earth. She thought that was what she wanted, but as per usual, she was staggeringly and impressively wrong. (She’d sort of leapt into the anger stage of grief from the second he had walked out the door of their apartment and was now flinging herself headlong into the depression stage. If she thinks about it long enough, it worries her to the point of throwing up that she is apparently skipping every other stage of the grieving process. Does that mean she will never get to acceptance?)

It still took like a week or so for them to actually break up though. They’re sitting on the couch in her place together watching the newest episode of some weird show he’d made her start watching about space or something. Well,  _ he _ was watching;  _ she _ was staring balefully at the stupid daisy she’d bought when she first moved in. She’d told Derek that he would need to remind her to take care of it and, despite his assertions to the contrary, he actually had. It hadn’t been the nicest plant in the world, but it had been the only one that hadn’t died at Casey’s hands and she’d left it on a little entry table by the door, so that it was the first thing that visitors saw and hopefully asked about when they came in. 

Little Varda (some film name, she hadn’t questioned it; whatever made him more invested in the flower) had died sometime between that horrible winter night when Derek walked out and January 4, when Casey had re-entered the apartment and discovered its wilted state. Casey had tried to save her, but she was definitely beyond saving. Now she sits on the living room table as a metaphor. She’s like the plant from Beauty and the Beast: every time another petal or leaf crumbles off, so does Casey’s soul die a bit more.

Mark sighs loudly then, interrupting her increasingly morbid musings. “Casey, love, I need to talk to you,” he exits Netflix (apparently the episode was done?) and puts his hand on her cheek, turning her face away from Varda and back towards him, “and I really need you to listen and be as honest as you can with me, okay? I won’t be upset with you for being honest. Can you do that for me, love?”

Casey is already pretty sure that she knows where the conversation is going, but she tilts her head as if in curiosity and gestures for him to continue.

Mark takes a deep breath and lets his hand fall from her face. Instead he folds his hands together and sits up straight as if he is giving a class presentation. Casey feels anew the fond appreciation for him that was the closest she seemed able to get to love.

“I need to know,” Mark says, “if this relationship is going to go anywhere… ever. If I need to sit here and be a hand to hold while your heart heals or you sort out whatever it is that happened with your brother-”

“Step-brother.” The correction is automatic, and entirely unhelpful.

Mark pauses for a second, but takes it in stride like he always does. “Alright, then: step-brother. If I need to sit here and endure that, I will. If that’s what you need in order to heal and move on, then I will do that. But… I’m beginning to think that you don’t truly wish to heal and move on. I’m beginning to think that there is no future here.”

The automatic denial does not spring so quickly to her lips this time, and the protest dies in her throat almost as quickly as it is born.

“If there is, I will stay!” Mark hurries to clarify. “If I am reading this wrong, please tell me. I care about you, Casey, and I want to be the best boyfriend I can be to you. But… I have to protect my heart also. I can’t give you everything I have if you can’t give me the same in return. You understand, don’t you?” he pleads, “I’m not trying to be selfish, it’s just-”

Casey bursts into tears. 

For the first time in their entire relationship, she feels like her heart is fully engaged with Mark. She understands him- she  _ is  _ him. She also fell hard for somebody without being sure they could give her the same back, only instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about it, she had let her fears and insecurities drive that man away and then towed this poor, wonderful sweetheart of a man into it all in the name of maturity. She had put him into the same situation to make herself feel better, and all she’d done was spread her pain and hurt onto him. She’d infected him like a virus. He was so pure, and kind, and good- who breaks up with a shitty girlfriend who had never been invested in the relationship from the very beginning, while worrying that  _ they  _ were the selfish one? He was the most wonderful person she had ever met and she was beginning to think that she was the worst. She was the problem. Derek was right- it was her.

She mumbles bits and pieces of this out loud and sobs into his chest (and it is not lost on her how utterly awful and wrong it is that  _ he _ is still comforting  _ her _ , when he is the one that has been undoubtedly wronged) for far too long. Eventually, her sobs become sniffles and her words die away, and she forces herself to pull away from his comforting embrace.

She can feel actual snot on her face and she knows that her tears will have ruined her makeup, but he smiles at her like she’s beautiful and rests his hand against the side of her face again (she wishes not for the first time that she could make herself love him the way he deserves). “I thought as much,” he says gently. “But please do not think you are a terrible person, Casey! You are not- not at all. The Casey that I have gotten the absolute privilege of getting to know over these months is a gentle, considerate woman who worries so much about being a good person that she loses herself in the process sometimes. What you are is a 20 year old woman who has undergone some emotional trauma; somebody broke your heart for likely the first time… it’s okay that you’re still struggling through that. We’re all just doing the best that we can, and you are one of the better ones, Casey McDonald. Give yourself a break.”

She laughs a little through her tears. “You are like the only person alive that would say that. I’ve been awful to you, you have every right to be angry.”

“Well, I guess you got lucky then, because I’m not. I might have been a little miffed if you had lied to me when I asked, but you were honest, and that is what I asked you for. What right do I have to be upset about that?”

Casey doesn’t answer him. How does she explain to a literal saint that he should be angry with her? She figures she’ll just be angry enough for both of them. 

He leaves shortly after, assuring her that he has the utmost confidence that she will figure this out, and promising her she is still a good person. Casey goes to her room, crawls under the blankets, and does not emerge for three days. Even Ramona, her new roommate who works night shifts and consequently doesn’t see much of Casey, notices.

Ramona knocks gently on the door until Casey finally mumbles for her to go away. Despite her gentle prodding, she is unable to get anything out of Casey and, genuinely concerned but limited by their nonexistent relationship, she does the only thing she can think of. She calls the first number on the emergency list that Casey has posted on the side of the fridge and, as much as she is able to, attempts to explain her concern to the voice on the other end.

This is how it comes about that Marti barges her way into Casey’s room in the early morning of February 17, rips the blankets off of Casey and yanks the cord for the blinds so hard that she breaks them. Lizzie follows her cautiously. She is apologetic, but Marti had been with her when she got the call from Casey’s roommate, and had fairly insisted that they drive up to Toronto to see Casey immediately.

“Yes! I did! I did insist!” Marti breaks in hysterically. “Do you know why I insisted?! Because I cannot do this again- okay?! I can’t. It will kill me. You both knew the stakes and the possible consequences of your relationship going in and you did it anyways! You cannot mope and fuck up the rest of the family for the rest of time because of it! Either call Derek right fucking now or get the fuck over it, because I just can’t do this anymore!!”

Casey and Lizzie had both stared at her in silence for a moment. Casey doesn’t even berate her for her language, too shocked by both the blatant acknowledgement of her relationship with Derek (and the lack of surprise from Lizzie) and the apparent depth of Marti’s feelings.

Suddenly, Marti bursts into tears, and Casey’s off the bed and pulling her into her arms before she has even processed the decision to do so.

“I just,” Marti hiccups into her shoulder, “I really miss you guys. It was already hard when you moved out, but then you came home that first Christmas and you couldn’t even talk to anybody else, cause you were so obsessed with hurting and avoiding each other and then, last Christmas happened, and now Derek just won’t come see us at all and you spend all your time distracted over him even though he’s not there and it’s not fair! Growing up is so hard and I want to talk to you guys and I can’t and it sucks! I know I sound like a little kid, and I’m sorry for it, but-”

Casey cuts in. “You  _ are  _ a little kid.” At Marti’s raised head and furious glare, she clarifies. “You’re allowed to want to see us and you’re allowed to ask for that and you’re allowed to be upset that I’m a bad sister.”

Marti punches her in the shoulder. “You’re not a bad sister! You guys are the best sisters. I used to wish for sisters before Dad met our Mom and you guys ended up being so much better than I ever imagined- the best actually. I love you both so, so much!”

Even Lizzie’s normally standoffish nature cannot resist this fierce, sincere proclamation, and she sidles over and wraps her arms around the two of them. “I love you too,” she murmurs, and Casey reaches around to hug her too and squeezes them both as hard as she can. “I love you guys too! I’m sorry that I’ve neglected you!”

Marti pulls back and punches her again. “You haven’t neglected us! … But maybe, next time you come home, we could just talk for a bit? The two of us?”

“Absolutely!” Casey tries to squeeze them again, but they both wriggle away, apparently finished with the touchy feely portion of the day and and insist on spending the whole day together in Toronto.

They end up getting pedicures together and then they get new piercings (Casey gets another one in her ear, Lizzie gets her ears pierced for the first time, and Marti gets her bellybutton pierced- Casey really hopes she won’t get in trouble for that). They finish the night off by going to a classy restaurant that Casey’s wallet can barely afford and the subsequent benefit for endangered rainforest animals that follows the meal. It is a day that none of them would have chosen for themselves and it is the best day that Casey has had in a very long time.

They get ice cream on the way back to her place (she picks up some for Ramona, who had managed to get her the exact thing that she needed), and as Marti inhales her banana split, she clears her throat and coughs significantly at Lizzie in the back seat. Lizzie pauses in the midst of licking her mint chocolate chip cone to shake her head slightly, but Marti is not to be deterred. 

“So… Edwin and Lizzie have a theory,” she starts.

Casey puts down her dish of butterscotch ripple that she nibbles at during the red lights, and cocks an eyebrow at this seemingly innocent statement. “Yes…? They have one for most things?”

“Do you want me to explain it, or should you?” Marti asks Lizzie.

Lizzie sighs and gives Marti an entirely unimpressed look. “It’s not really a theory. It’s just sort of a… hypothesis. It’s barely even based on facts- just a couple standalone instances and-”

Marti interrupts. “They think Derek would come to the family gatherings if you didn’t.”

It feels a little like somebody punched her, and Marti clearly notices and grimaces. “I know that’s shitty-”

“Language,” Casey murmurs mechanically.

Marti huffs in annoyance. “I know it sucks, but he’s a stubborn ass- buttface,” she quickly corrects herself, “and I was thinking, maybe just occasionally, you could not take it off work or something? And then we could see him? I’m gonna try yelling at him too, but I can’t do that unless I see him.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Marti looks like she wants to take it back, but can’t; Lizzie looks like she is on the verge of doing it for her, when:

“Okay,” Casey says softly. “I can do that.”

And the hug that both her sisters give her before they pile into Lizzie’s car and drive back to London almost makes canceling on the family dinner that was planned for next week worth it- almost.

The thing is, Casey is a family person. She loves her family. She rearranges her schedule to be able to see them. The knowledge that they are all actually in Toronto without her right now feels like a tangible ache inside. The fact that Derek has taken this from her too feels like the rumble of thunder. The fear that she will have to miss every other gathering with her family as if she is a divorced mom with part time custody feels like approaching flashes of lightning. The knowledge that this is all her fault feels like steadily increasing drops of rain. A storm is building in her, has been building in her for a long time now, and it feels like it wouldn’t take much for her to lose the war she’s been so determinedly waging against it and be inundated. Just one more drop could drown her.

Her phone vibrates in her back pocket.

She takes it out. Marti has sent her a photo with the caption “Thanks ❤️❤️❤️” Casey opens it hesitantly. It is a selfie of Marti and Derek. He is rolling his eyes, she is sticking out her tongue, and they both have cake smeared across their faces. They look happier than she has seen them look in actual years.

She loses her war.

The scream that tears out of her is pure anguish and she flings herself out of the house with no real plan in mind. She just needs to see him. She needs to see him and ask him why. Why wasn’t she enough? Why did he let her break them up? Why did he leave? Why didn’t he come back?

It’s pouring outside and she slips on the wet grass three steps in and falls flat on her back. It feels poetic, this torrential downpour, like the heavens had exploded along with her, so she lays there in the wet grass and cries for her breakup for the first time. She cries for the good moments and the bad, and every mistake she made, and how thoroughly she was fucking everyone else up, and how much she had hurt him, and how much she herself just  _ hurt so much  _ inside, in a way that felt permanent and irreversible. She cries until she can’t breathe, and then spends a bit more time gasping on the lawn like a drowning victim.

As she begins to calm down, so does the rain, until eventually, it’s just her hiccuping in the grass while a gentle drizzle peppers her drenched body. She remembers Mark’s words then and Lizzie’s gentle assertions and Marti’s punches, and for some reason, she is able to let herself believe them this time.

She is not a bad person, she is doing the best that she can, and she has to give herself a break. Yes, she did do a lot of things wrong- a lot of things- but if she never forgives herself, then she will never move past this. And she doesn’t want to live here anymore. She finally  _ wants  _ to heal and move on- she  _ deserves  _ to heal and move on. And so does everybody else- everybody that she loves deserves that. They deserve a Casey who is healing and moving on. It’s okay that she doesn’t have everything figured out, it’s okay to be heartbroken, it’s okay to miss him so much it hurts and to miss the person that she was before he smashed her heart up. What’s not okay is to stay there. She has to figure out a way to glue her heart back together- no, it won’t be the same ever again, but it will still be hers- take the lessons that this taught her- she will never risk him holding her heart in its entirety again- and move on.

Casey forgives Derek that night, and she forgives herself- and even before she wakes up the next day so much lighter and freer and cleaner inside than she has been for so long, she knows that this is the first step. She knows that she’ll be okay as long as she keeps trying to find the next step, and she knows that she has been so fortunate as to have a wonderful set of supporters in her life to help her do that.

She is not ready to see Derek yet, and she has no long-term solutions to any of the still existing problems of their relationship and its impact on her family, but new Casey is trying to learn how to take things a step at a time and be okay with the slow and imperfect process.

It’s more of a battle than she expected, but Casey McDonald is nothing if not determined. If Derek taught her nothing else, at least he taught her how to fight, how to demand more from the world and then contend for it.

Some days are better than others, but when Casey finally throws Varda away (she did keep the last petal) and starts to water Ginny, her new geranium, it feels like real progress. When Ginny starts to actually sprout, it feels like healing. And the day Casey comes home from work, gets her bi-weekly reminder to water Ginny and sees the first bud opening up, it feels a lot like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is technically based on Taylor Swift's Clean (and it wasn't even supposed to be; Euterpe and Erato [my predominant muses] got in a fight, and this was the compromise I guess?), but I think there are also influences of both her older song "Innocent" and her newer one "this is me trying" here too. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this new installment. I firmly believe that we all (or at least, almost all) are doing the best that we can, that grace can make up for mistakes, and we all need to give ourselves a break sometime. Again, I love you all, and I appreciate you sticking with me as I slowly stumble through this story.
> 
> (PS: Agnès Varda was a really cool lady and y'all should look her up. The filmmaker Derek in my head would find her very inspirational.)


	7. Every Time I Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I bet sometimes you wonder 'bout me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I don't really touch on the idea of her thinking about him at all in the chapter, but doesn't this line have such a Derek vibe to it? Such cockiness, such confidence haha....  
> Welp. It's been like a month and I'm so sorry for that. I haven't forgotten about this and I'm always sort of writing snippets in my head... as I desperately try to keep on top of my life. It's been a busy month for me, and honestly, it's not getting better haha. But I had this tiny reprieve in my schedule and hopefully I won't regret dedicating a day to this 😂😂 Posting a new chapter is also surprisingly time consuming: first I have to actually sit down and put mental snippets to paper, then I have to edit it, then I have to come up with messages for you guys that properly convey how much I love you all and hope that you'll enjoy the new chapter, and then I spend the next however long waiting for comments, trapped in this limbo of "they've finally figured out that I don't know what I'm doing and they're all gonna hate it". It's pretty exhausting tbh. Having said that, I do really love you all! I haven't forgotten about this, I'm doing my best to get it out to you as quickly as I can, and I remain humbled and staggered by your support. I hope you guys like the new installment. 😍😍

It’s Edwin that snaps him out of it. I mean, he’ll take that to his grave, and if Marti asks, it was definitely her yelling at him in the middle of the restaurant that did the trick. But it wasn’t until Edwin came up to Toronto to spend his March break with Derek that he really felt like he was moving on and breaking free of the awful version of himself that Casey had left him with. It was one thing to be lame with his teammates who didn’t really know him or to be withdrawn when he was with the family, it was another thing entirely to be all existential and listen to depressing music and shit when Edwin of all people was sharing his room (and probably taking notes and emailing reports to Lizzie every night on top of it). The kid looks up to him, and he’s too young to lose all his heroes (and Lizzie has this disconcerting way of confronting him on his bullshit that he wants to avoid if at all possible).

So Derek pretends to be okay, and somehow it actually kind of makes him okay. I mean, he’s not quite normal Derek- and maybe he never will be- but he’s fun and funny and interesting and charming and smart and all the best parts of himself again. Edwin leaves with his faith and adoration restored and all is right with the world once more.

New Derek (who is mostly okay) can let himself think about Casey, and in a lot of ways, it’s like he’s 16 all over again and she’s just swanned her way into his house and disrupted everything: he thinks about her almost constantly and imagines out the most mundane interactions- only instead of picturing ways to piss her off, he creates scenarios to win her back.

He’s watching a game with his roommates when suddenly he’s thinking of her again. He imagines her curled up with a steaming mug of that awful tea she drinks to improve mental performance and squished into that chair she’d bought for the fire escape even though it was too small for her and was useless to him, but god forbid she just get a new one. She’d be staring at the dwindling cars and humming something nonsensical under her breath as she “self-evaluates”, which is her fancy term for stressing herself out. He always lets her do it for a bit because it makes her feel better, but right around the time her gross tea gets cold and her breathing gets a little bit too quick for comfort, he scoops her out of the chair and flings her over his shoulder, or flicks little decorative shit at her until she snaps and starts pitching it back at him, or starts cooking something so she’ll take it over from him. As long as it distracts her from her own head and gets her focusing on reality, it’ll do. She pretends to hate it, but he’s pretty sure she’s on to him and is grateful in her own way. 

_ Was _ , he reminds himself. She  _ was  _ grateful and he  _ used  _ to do those things for her. He wonders if Mark helps ground her now. But that’s not right either- Lizzie and Marti said that they had broken up. There was probably nobody to do that for her anymore. He amends the picture in his mind- Casey’s curled a little tighter into the chair and her fingers are white on the handle of the mug and her humming isn’t quite steady. 

He stands up to get some more popcorn and while he waits for the bag to pop, he turns his phone over in his hand and thinks about calling her. He wonders if she would even pick up the phone, wonders what she would say, wonders what _he_ would say. But… he doesn’t. Because he is all the best parts of himself again and the thing most people didn’t realize about Derek was the amount of self control he had. He has self control in spades and the patience of a mafia boss and instincts that have never steered him wrong.

So he reaches deep down inside of him for every inch of self control he has (because he has it in spades, but he’s also an incurable gambler) and shoves his phone back into his pocket. His instincts say  _ No  _ and they haven’t led him astray yet. Besides, if he’d called her, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to pelt the popcorn bag at Jacobson’s face and honestly, the look on his stupid smug face, when the bag explodes on his head and popcorn rains down all around him makes every single moment leading up to this one worth it.

The universe seems determined to test his self control though. It’s not too long after that day, sometime in July he thinks, that Casey starts drunk texting him. Not consistently and not like, explicitly or anything, but still! He’ll just be minding his own business, reading on his phone or something (sports stats, shut up) and all of a sudden he’ll get like 6 messages in a row because it turns out that sober Casey sends giant paragraphs as text messages and drunk Casey sends multiple messages of single misspelled phrases.

**Spacey:** There Nabul

lol

A bully i mean

Ughsa bull

Like yer had

Yeehaw like cowboy

Despite himself, he laughs aloud and shoots a text back before he can think it through.

**Derek:** A bull?? You ride it, Space Case?

She answers him almost immediately.

**Spacey:** DErek!b HI

Nooo

Iwadgibbae but Emily sauf no

He stares at that one for a second, trying to make it make sense, but ultimately decides that he’s got enough of a vibe to respond.

**Derek:** Yeah, probably a good idea, Case. You sound pretty drunk.  Emily is looking after you?

**Spacey:** yea she said not to talke tot you cause i am sad and weezy t drink right now like her friends

do you live me

i kisstbiu 

Miss 

His breath catches a little, giving him the clarity to hear his instincts again.  _ Not yet,  _ they urge, and he groans. It would be so easy right now to just call her and…

And nothing. She’s drunk and likely saying shit she would never say sober. She would never forgive him for pursuing this conversation while she was drunk and he doesn’t think his heart could bear her backpedalling in the morning. Besides, Emily is there and she would totally punch him if he tried anything. (She honestly wouldn’t need much provocation to punch him.)

So he ignores how unbearably smug the smart part of him is being right now, takes a deep breath, and texts her back.

**Derek:** You should probably go to bed now, Spacey. 

She answers him immediately again.

**Spacey:** This is Emily. Casey’s phone is out of commission until she can behave with responsibility- and shame on you Derek for encouraging her! If you want to talk to Casey, then grow a pair and-

He doesn’t even bother to finish reading the text. It’s not that he doesn’t have ‘a pair’ as Emily so delicately puts it, it’s that Casey is the most fucking frustrating person to ever live and he’s  _ trying  _ to do it right this time around, which means a little less thoughtless stumbling into situations and a little more deliberation and faith in himself and her. And all of that starts with just a bit more patience and self control and he could do it if everybody would just stop trying to do it for him!!

Unsurprisingly, the only person that understands this is Lizzie. Marti drops increasingly less subtle hints to just call Casey every time he talks to her, Edwin tells a long, obviously fake story about his friend “Jarek” who found the courage to call his ex girlfriend “Macy” and how very happy they are now, and even his dad and Nora have this awkward phone call with him where they spend a lot of time talking about how all they care about is his happiness and they don’t want him to ever feel like he has to hold back from something that would make him happy on their account and they were already a crazy family, surely they could get used to a little bit more… does he understand what they’re trying to say? It’s actually sort of awkwardly and tactlessly sweet- like Ralph- but it’s also awful (like Ralph), so he pretends he has to go and hangs up in the middle of his dad’s sentence.

Lizzie is the only one that makes no allusions to it when they talk, and he’s decided she’s his new favourite. That’s actually  _ why  _ he decided to give her his old computer- because she’s his new favourite! (He’s full of shit. She needed a better computer for her internship and he had just bought a new one anyways (and Marti's always gonna be his favourite). But still, it had made him far more amenable to the idea of interacting with her.) And then, just as he’s helping unload the last of the stuff into her place, she stops, turns to face him directly and says, “I think it’s time for you to talk to Casey.”

He chokes on nothing for a second. It’s so unexpected and outrageous and confident that his brain needs an excuse to come up with a response. Lizzie doesn’t appear to expect one, though. She just turns on her heel and goes off toward the kitchen, asking him if he wants something to drink.

Some words come out of his mouth in response to this, but he’s not sure what they are. He’s too busy trying to think of what to say to Lizzie- cause he’s obviously gotta say  _ something _ . He could tell her about all his obsessive thinking about Casey or about the drunk texts or about how sudden everything was last time and how he has to do better this time around. He could tell her about his instincts and how they won’t quite let him say anything, not even when he dreams of her and  _ she  _ asks  _ him  _ to give them another try. He could tell her that moments like this, he’s not even sure he should bother- they had made such a mess out of everything, dragging the whole family into their poor life decisions, and maybe it was better to just let this one go. But his instincts pipe up then, and he settles on meeting her eyes as she holds out a glass of water for him to take and giving her a decisive nod. “I will,” he promises, and she flashes him a quick smile and nods back. 

“Need help setting the computer up?” he asks, but she shakes her head. 

“Nah, I’m sure I can figure it out.” 

She shoves a travel mug at him before he leaves, because it’s practically fall now and she’s worried he’ll be cold. (He won’t even mention the entirely unnecessary shade that she throws at the Prince.) He takes a sip of it as he pulls onto the highway back to Toronto… and promptly gags. It’s that awful shit that Casey always drank, because of course it is. 

He pictures her again, curled in that chair, with a too big sweater and leggings, drinking her pumpkin spiced tea by this time of year (or whatever it is), her cheeks a little red and her hair mussed from the wind. The mental picture sends a pang of longing through him, but the longing is mixed with hope this time, because while Lizzie isn’t quite right, she’s pretty close. (At least, if he’s trusting his instincts still- and he’s come way too far to stop doing that.)

So he sits on his phone to keep himself from doing something dumb, clenches the steering wheel, digs down deep for the very last vestiges of his self control and clings to the promise his instincts gave him when he was trying to think of something to say to Lizzie.

They didn’t tell him _no_ , and they didn’t even say _not_ _yet_. They gave him something even better than that.

They told him:  _ Soon.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know what that sound is, Highness? Those are the shrieking eels." And they're shrieking because we are almost at the fluff you guys!!! It is right around the corner and I really hope it will be worth it ❤️❤️❤️ 
> 
> This one is based on TSwift's "I Almost Do", which is a lovely song and you should all go listen to it right now.
> 
> Can you tell that I love Lizzie? I feel like she's so underrated and it might feel a bit out of character to have Derek interacting with the middle kids and Casey interacting with Marti last chapter, but the thing is... I need it? (And they do say to write what you needed to hear lol). Also, Derek is such a softie and he's always chugging that 'love your family juice' pretty hard and please don't take away this headcanon from me of Derek and Lizzie just having this unspoken connection! 😂😂 (I also love Ralph btw!! I throw shade with love haha.)
> 
> Also, I absolutely love the idea that Casey pulls herself together because she has heart to hearts with her siblings and a nigh spiritual experience in a rainstorm, while Derek just pretends to for the "aesthetic" and that actually helps him find his new normal loooool. (Speaking of spiritual experiences, I created the drunk texts by closing my eyes and trying to type and my little sister said I looked like I was possessed 🤣🤣🤣)
> 
> Also also, get you someone who loves and supports you like Derek loves and supports himself. 😂😂
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought!!
> 
> PS: Did I write a character from my history course into this story just so I could live out a fantasy of chucking something at his head? ... maybe. But it was cathartic for me, so I have no regrets *shrug*


End file.
